Taldor does his best to help clean up the mess, lending his strength where it is needed, and shyly apologizing to the herds owners. He also has a hard time averting his eyes from the girl pit fighter. Eventually he settles down a little away from the main group, and afraid to pull out his childhood battle game for fear of it being taken, he takes out a little stone dwarven puzzle that still confounds him. knowledge (engineering):1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7

After he is certain that the fire cannot spring to life again, Tolus uses a bucket to wash the ash and soot and smoke from his blanket. The water almost immediately turns black. What I wouldn't give for a stream

He scrubs vigorously for several minutes before the water manages a retaliatory strike and splashes into his face. Surprised and sputtering, Tolus sits back and takes a few good breaths.

It was then that his eyes caught up to his surroundings fully. The whole of the air was still hazy with smoke. Everything still smelt of it (so why did I wash my blanket again?). Everything was was a kind of brown-grey. And in the midst was a girl he had never noticed in the chaos. She was strong, and beautiful. One of the Princess's attendants. But why is she changing out here?

Khatijah?

Then he noticed the scars. Oh, my dear young girl, what have you done to yourself? And what Masters have you served to earn such?

Tolus rises and walks slowly over to Khatijah's spot. Half because he didn't want to offend any decency she may have left, half because he just couldn't walk faster.

"Do you mind if we.. He turns his head and hacks up some ash, .. Would you mind if we shared this lovely spot you've found? My leather feels as if it's been melted to my skin."

Note: The chain was on top of everything else, she just took it and the padding off so she's still decent, it's just that the shirt underneath all of that is soaked with sweat and clinging to her. Even then there's still another layer before she would have to cover herself.

"Might help if you take it off."

Khatijah doesn't object to sharing her spot with the strange snake-man and even moves over a little to give him room to sit. She motions for Tolus to sit before brushing the sand from her arms.

"Strange thing, this. It burns like fire during the day, but at night it cools like water."

There is still a sheen of sweat, but it's lessening now that night is coming. she doesn't look at the Vishkanya as she talks, but she doesn't seem the type to talk to herself.

Note: The chain was on top of everything else, she just took it and the padding off so she's still decent, it's just that the shirt underneath all of that is soaked with sweat and clinging to her. Even then there's still another layer before she would have to cover herself.

"Might help if you take it off."

Khatijah doesn't object to sharing her spot with the strange snake-man and even moves over a little to give him room to sit. She motions for Tolus to sit before brushing the sand from her arms.

There is still a sheen of sweat, but it's lessening now that night is coming. she doesn't look at the Vishkanya as she talks, but she doesn't seem the type to talk to herself.

I didn't mean to imply she was indecent, just that she was in the process of changing so she may not have appreciated him walking up at just that time.

Tolus nods his thanks and unbuckles his bracers first, followed by his side straps that secure the chest piece. Once the armor falls to the ground he looks very much less the walking paradox and much more like a finely dressed, if rather sweat sodden, slave. He cannot avoid looking such as the cut and color of his robes are traditionally defined to make his station obvious.
He slumps down into an exhausted heap next to her.

Khatijah wrote:

... brushing the sand from her arms. "Strange thing, this. It burns like fire during the day, but at night it cools like water."

"Indeed. Sand and my Fourth Master both. Though I think I prefer the sand."

from the DM: yes, and the body that was pulled out is badly burned at the arms, in fact they are blackened, and is clearly female with short hair, it appears to have flame in her hair that will not go out no matter how many times you attempt to do so.

to Kara

"There was a woman in the wagon. I healed her some, but her hair.. it seems to flame of its own accord and be neither consumed nor does it consume her. I... can't say I understand it at all, but isn't it beautiful?" Fionn points out the flaming-haired woman. The diminutive cleric seems entranced by the writhing flames in the woman's hair.

After a few moments, she tears her eyes away with a shrug. "I've done what I can for her for now."

She slips over by Taldor, the very large dwarf and cocks her head to one side. "You've grown, I must say it becomes you... how long does this last, Taldor." She struggles out of her chain shirt and lets it fall to the sand, relieved to be free of its constriction and weight, then sits down cross-legged by Taldor. "Oooh, is that another game? What is it?" She looks gleefully at his puzzle.

DM: you didn't tell me how much of the woman's wounds Fionn healed... I did 6 points, but can do more if she still needs it.

Fionn REALLY needs to read the description of Mas'ud in his profile. His flickering, flaming hair is a racial trait . . .. Also, the Enlarge Person lasts for 1 minute per Mas'us's character level, so, it didn't last for long after the described scenes. Heck, it probably ended before we ACTUALLY got the wagon put out.

Once the woman with a patch of her hair appearing to match Mas'ud's has started receiving more competent medical care than Mas'ud can provide, the ifrit turns to help everyone else with the clean-up.

If any of the injured might still benefit from such, Mas'ud can provide a little magic healing, as well, but these sorts of burns need more than his pitiful magic to heal well.

Seeing people wandering around, and Kara staring into the partially buried remains of the wagon, he heads to see if she needs any help, catching her question as he approaches. "Yes. There were at least 3 people hurt. Burned in the fire. One of them was trapped in the wagon as it burned. She is burnt very badly. I do not know if anyone here has the skill to keep her alive, honestly. The others are not as bad."

"I wonder what caused the fire. What led the woman to be trapped within the wagon, surrounded by candles? What happened to her that she now bears both human and ifrit hair? Someone had to have been manipulating some interesting magics. The story leading up to this fire has to be more interesting than fighting it was exciting . . .."

I didn't realize mas'ud's hair was on fire all the time... or Fionn would have been following you around like a puppy wanting to know all about you, but since it seems we will have plenty of rp time now, that can all come out.

indeed, after a minute i'm back to normal size @Mas'ud Taldor walks over and clasps his arm "I'm not much fer magic, but that twas a handy spell. Maybe next time gimme a sec to lower me magical defenses tho eh? Ye might not be so lucky as to get thru it again"

Arizhel is shaken, but steady, after the ordeal with the fire and the mysterious card burning against her chest. She calmly helps bandage up the injured soldiers, then helps pen the remaining conscious animals. When the work is done, she approaches the woman who appeared from the tent. Holding out the burned card in her small hands, she asks "Excuse me, ma'am, does this mean anything?"

"Mas'ud... your hair, it flames like the woman from the burning wagon's hair. And... I simply HAVE to know.. does it truly burn? Can you set things on fire with it?"[b] Her eyes blaze with curiosity. [b]"Can I... touch it?... Do you mind if I ask what you are exactly? I have never seen your like before."

She seems to burn with more questions, but she bites her lip and stops with those for now... watching Mas'ud's face for signs she might have angered or offended.

posting from the road but answering some questions. The woman is still incapacitated and probably won't wake for some time. Unlike Mas'ud she bears no horns or bronzed skin. There are no ifrit racial markers except for the hair.

"Well," the shrug is almost louder than the words, "I'm glad you found it useful."

Then Fionn grabs his attention, and Mas'ud finds himself both turning to the side a little and looking even further down, which is an experience not uncommon to a street storyteller. His reaction appears reflexive, but solves the problem nicely, as he simply sits on the ground, putting his face closer to hers. "Yes. Her hair does appear to be doing something similar, now, but I don't understand either how or why." His expression transitions from curiosity to amusement. "I don't think so. I haven't started any fires with it yet, even while sleeping. Yes, I do sleep on as soft a bed as I can manage, just like everyone else." As she asks about touching his hair, he reflexively starts into warning, "While you CAN touch my hair, you need to understand that the fact it won't burn you doesn't mean . . .." He catches himself giving the small child response, and looks rather embarrassed. "If you wish. He bends his neck, offering an easier reach to his hair. It feels much like a normal full head of not quite clean hair. With the exceptions that it stands up on his head and moves about by itself."[/b]

As Fionn' asks the last question from this particular set, Mas'ud sighs before sitting up and choosing to present a sense of wonder. "Are you not familiar with the tales of our lands? Great and powerful sorcerers regularly plead with my ancestors, attempting to make deals which will help them become more powerful and allow them to subjugate the people with less risk or effort. These creatures are the Djinn. There are five main types of Djinn, four tied to each of the primary elements, air, earth, fire, and water, and the fifth type, the noble Djinn, rule over them all. I am an ifrit, a child of both man and Efreeti, or fire Djinn. Thus, my affinity with fire. Creatures such as myself are rare, because the Djinn do not wish to sully themselves through contact with such weak things as us." He indicates the entire encampment as he makes the last comment, before shrugging yet again. "As was shown earlier, I also have a weak ability to change a man's size. For some reason, people are usually happier to be made larger, but smaller seems to have far more uses to my mind."

"Indeed. Sand and my Fourth Master both. Though I think I prefer the sand."

Khatijah chuckles at that.

"I think many would prefer the sands to their masters. The desert doesn't treat you differently. It alone is the only thing that is truly fair in this land."

Tolus is unsure how to proceed. He wants to now this fascinating woman's story, but is afraid of pushing her away with memories of her past.

"I'd say there are exceptions to the rule, as always, but in general I agree. I am curious though. Were you ever beholden to anyone not connected with pit fighting? I was never owned by anyone who had those connections, at least not directly, so I think we could learn much from the other, you and I. "

When she reaches out to touch his hair, her touch is tentative only for a moment, then she laughs happily, almost child-like. "Thank you. It's like touching living fire, but without burning. I love it! And no, I have never heard tales of your kind before. I have heard of Djinn and Efreeti when I was studying fire magics in Qadira, but I hadn't heard of Ifrit before. I never knew... " She looks crestfallen as she speaks of not knowing of Ifrit.

"It must be wonderful to be what you are. Lucky indeed to be a child of both fire and man. Your ability to change the size of someone could definitely be of use in combat. I can see Toldar fighting happily as a giant. I agree that smaller is better of course" She laughs merrily and shrugs...

Mas'ud sighs. "You might think so. I wish you were right. There are some who treat me with the fear due a djinn. Others treat me like an exotic animal which should be displayed for the sheiks. Only the children, enthralled by the traditional stories, treat me like just another person."

He slaps his knee and stands up "But, enough negative! It should be time to eat, shouldn't it? Let's see if someone amongst this caravan has started a meal, or if we should."

"I'm a very good cook. If there's nothing on the fire, I can make something. I'd just need a few things - you know.. pots and pans, some, um... food to cook?... and some spices of course." She hops to her feet and both looks about and sniffs the air, trying to discover if anything is already cooking.

Tolus is unsure how to proceed. He wants to know this fascinating woman's story, but is afraid of pushing her away with memories of her past.

"I'd say there are exceptions to the rule, as always, but in general I agree. I am curious though. Were you ever beholden to anyone not connected with pit fighting? I was never owned by anyone who had those connections, at least not directly, so I think we could learn much from the other, you and I. "

Khtijah gives a derisive snort at the question.

"I suppose you could say no. My first master tried to have me trained as a concubine. He tried to, um..." It's obvious that she's struggling to find a polite way to say something, but eventually, her terse matter-of-fact manner win out of any attempts to treat her past master delicately. "*sigh* He tried to have his way with me. He thought that I was young enough to not be any trouble. Too naive, too stupid. I slapped him. He put me in the pits, bet a large amount of gold on my demise, and killed himself after I won. I didn't have to worry about men, or the occasional woman, trying to do what he did. Killing a jakal with ease at twelve years of age and no experience prior goes a long way convincing others that I was a demon."

Touls nods, not really shocked by the tale. He'd seen her story only one other time twenty years ago. Most slaves were just sold off to perform hard labor. The other girl wasn't so skilled, however, and had a hulking gladiator as an opponent. He took his time.
Tolus shakes away the memory of the rumors of what had occurred in that match. It made him sick to think of it.
"You are apparently as immortal as a demon. I have never seen such a story of rebellion and discipline written into anyone's flesh, and believe me when I say I have seen my fair share of obstinate people. One of the other Exotics in my group under my second Master actually twisted under the lash to form complex patterns across his back. He called himself an "artisan of pain". He was sold off shortly after I left. I never saw him again. "

He lookes over at the sweat soaked woman. She was Exotic material, and deserved to be treated with all the respect he would assign to another of his kind. She was his equal in every way. She may have even been among his closest friends if fate was kinder, but when he remembered what had befallen his friends he was, in a way, thankful she was thrown into the Pits. At least she was alive. But he could have kept one such as her alive, surely. With her drive she could survive anything.

"I wish you had been brought under my care when you were first sold. I would not have been so rash. You are an Exotic, even with your scars. "

"I have never even heard of the pits before, and I was never . . . no one ever tried to use me like that. I have this crossbow, but aside from knowing the pointy end of the stick points towards what I want to hurt, I have no idea how to use weapons. . . I have never been bought, nor have I ever been sold. I am starting to understand why my parents wanted me to come along though. I never realized how bad being a slave really was."

Fionn builds a fire and starts cooking for the group... the smells are enticing... she is obviously a very good cook. Soon the food is passed around for all to enjoy. Fionn seems very proud of her accomplishments with so little to work with.

prof. cook:1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28

When everyone else has been served, she takes a plate for herself and sits near the fire, eating slowly.

Taldor takes a bite and his eyes shoot up and he starts coughing. After a second he calms down, then looks at the rest of the party "Ahh, meh bad...used to army food is all, and this is a bit richer than i'm used to"

"It was the best I could do under the circumstances, Taldor... I've never cooked for an army before, so I just cooked the way I usually do. Sorry if it's a bit much for your taste, but if you tell me what you like, and how you like it, I can try to make things that way in the future. That is assuming I do any more cooking for us all. Which I'm fine with, I love cooking... just depends on if you all want me to cook for you." She stops babbling on and takes a bite of food as if realizing she's going on too much and needs to distract herself.

After swallowing, she continues. "I do hope the rest of you like it. It's pretty much the best I could do with limited equipment and field rations as a base." She peers at the rest of the group, hoping for some sign of approval.

Taldor backpeddles "No it's good! I was just sayin' it's too good is all. Imagine you've been eating mud for a month then you were fed a sweetcake, just wasn't expecting it" Taldor is indeed happy to have some good food, and now he's eating with gusto

"Oooh, I'm so glad you like it then!" She stands up, comes over to Taldor and (assuming he's sitting down, since she's short) gives him a little hug and a kiss on the cheek. "You're too sweet to say so." Then she sits down near him, among the rest of the group, to finish her own meal.

"I wish you had been brought under my care when you were first sold. I would not have been so rash. You are an Exotic, even with your scars. "

"I'd probably be trading one set of problems for another. Novelty isn't eternal."

As the little cleric passed around the plates of food, Khatijah gave a small nod and a quiet word of thanks before beginning to eat. The first bite surprises her. She was used to much of what Taldor was, bland rations and tepid water. She wasn't used to something that almost made her want to sing.

Almost, she still remembered she was tone-deaf.

She gets up and finds the gnome by Taldor, making the poor dwarf blush.

"You're most welcome, Khat. It was my pleasure to cook for all of you. I'm glad you enjoyed it! I hope you don't mind me calling you Khat, I'm afraid I'm an inveterate abbreviator. Please let me know if you're offended and I'll do my best to remember to use your full name." As usual, she prattles on a bit, being a very loquacious little gnome. "I'm afraid where I come from we have very long names and everyone has a nickname to make things easier. Like my name is Fionbharanel, but everyone calls me Fionn" which she pronounces 'Finn'. "And my sister Lorelendral, we all call her 'Lore' for short." She gives Khatijah a big smile, her eyes crinkling almost closed with the grin.

"I wish you had been brought under my care when you were first sold. I would not have been so rash. You are an Exotic, even with your scars. "

"I'd probably be trading one set of problems for another. Novelty isn't eternal."

As the little cleric passed around the plates of food, Khatijah gave a small nod and a quiet word of thanks before beginning to eat. The first bite surprises her. She was used to much of what Taldor was, bland rations and tepid water. She wasn't used to something that almost made her want to sing.

Almost, she still remembered she was tone-deaf.

She gets up and finds the gnome by Taldor, making the poor dwarf blush.

"This was a pleasant surprise. Thank you."

I'm assuming Khatijah would have seen Fionn cooking at some point.

"With that quote, one may sum up my life, all 40-odd years of it. "

Tolus receives a bowl with one of his graceful, seated bows and makes his way over to join everyone near the fire. His first bite pulls him into a smile.

"My compliments to the chef! I haven't eaten this well in weeks!
He promptly disappears behind his food and doesn't come up for air until its gone.

"I have never even heard of the pits before, and I was never . . . no one ever tried to use me like that. I have this crossbow, but aside from knowing the pointy end of the stick points towards what I want to hurt, I have no idea how to use weapons. . . I have never been bought, nor have I ever been sold. I am starting to understand why my parents wanted me to come along though. I never realized how bad being a slave really was."

Not wanting to ignore her comments, Tolus speaks to her in low tones just after he's finished devouring his meal.

"There are many negatives involved in being enslaved, but there are positives to be found, if one looks hard enough. However, the negatives outweigh the positives most times. "

Fionn grins at Tolus and nods. "Thank you Tolus. My pleasure. I'm so glad you like it!. She listens as Tolus speaks softly to Hadassah and nods. This is the first time I've heard Tolus admit that slavery isn't necessarily a good thing. At least he has an open mind. And I suppose I can understand his viewpoint a little, even if I don't agree with it.

She doesn't speak however to avoid starting the whole argument again about slavery. The meal was a pleasant diversion and the last thing I wants is to start another brouhaha about the good and bad of slavery.

Eventually though, she gets up and starts collecting empty plates which she takes to the well and begins to wash along with her cooking utensils.

Taldor, smiling at the bond he's developing with his comrades, leans up against a wagon and pulls out his little puzzle device again. knowledge(engineering)1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15 Taldors moods are lifted even higher as he makes some progress on the puzzle

"Fionn, you have a magical touch with food. Please, allow me to clean up. We should all do our share, right?" The ifrit playfully wrestles the dirty dishes away from the gnome before giving them a good sand scrubbing. [i]"These people seem to know nothing other than slavery, and keep turning the conversation back to slavery. If they are here to gain their freedom, what will they talk about if they gain it? ill they still mentally be slaves? I need to find some way to get them to see beyond their pasts. THAT's not going to be easy."{/b] Mas'ud thinks to himself while scrubbing the dishes.

Hey when all you know is slavery and fighting that tends to be what the conversations revolve around. :) On the other hand, once the adventure really gets going, I'm sure we'll have plenty of other things to talk about.

Fionn reluctantly gives up the dishes to Mas'ud with a little smile. "This isn't necessary, Mas'ud, but thank you very much." She goes back to collect the rest of the dishes and bring them over to Mas'ud and she watches him in wonder as he uses sand instead of water to scrub them clean. "I never would have thought of that... it's.. genius" She picks up a handful of sand and runs it through her fingers as if she's never seen the stuff before.

Not wanting to ignore her comments, Tolus speaks to her in low tones just after he's finished devouring his meal.
"There are many negatives involved in being enslaved, but there are positives to be found, if one looks hard enough. However, the negatives outweigh the positives most times. "

Tolus catches Kara staring at him with a foul look on her face, but she turns and resumes eating. When finished, Kara joins the others in cleaning up, but does so mostly in silence.

Fionn looks surprised by the group's willingness to clean up after the meal and after a blush of almost embarrassment, she backs off from the cleaning site and sits back down. She wiggles a little to shift the weight of her chain shirt, jingling a bit a she does so. Idly, she pokes the fire with a stick, making it flare up a bit as more air gets to the base of the flames. She smiles warmly, her face lit up by the firelight.

Not wanting to ignore her comments, Tolus speaks to her in low tones just after he's finished devouring his meal.
"There are many negatives involved in being enslaved, but there are positives to be found, if one looks hard enough. However, the negatives outweigh the positives most times. "

Tolus catches Kara staring at him with a foul look on her face, but she turns and resumes eating. When finished, Kara joins the others in cleaning up, but does so mostly in silence.

Well, I smooth over some feathers just to ruffle others.

For all his efforts toward unity, and the others reciprocal efforts, he fears has only scratched the surface of his ideological conflicts with this group.
"I just hope we can come together when it counts. I also hope I can make them understand that slavery does not have to be evil. If your Master is perfect, your life is perfect. That's all. But I fear they are all too wrapped up in what is to envision what could be.

Soon after dinner the exhaustion of the day catches up to Tolus. He gathers his armor and other belongings, then he hangs his sodden blanket over a wagon wheel. "At least you don't smell as bad as you did..."

He then returns to the campfire. Scrublands can get very cold at night, so he retrieves his bedroll from a woven sack and rolls it out a polite but warm distance from the fire. He then removes and shakes out his sandy, smoky outer robes, wishing again for a swift moving stream to wash out the filth. When they're as clean as he's going to make them, he folds them professionally and places them in order at the head of his bedroll. He then neatly lays out his pack and burlap sack along the far side and head of the bedroll. That should make it marginally warmer

It may be a simple sleeping arrangement, but Tolus's long history of house-service are plainly visible. Everything is in perfect order. Even his bedroll is perfectly folded with not a wrinkle to be seen even after being rolled tightly all day.

With a guarded yawn Tolus wishes everyone goodnight and slips smoothly into his bedroll.

Exhausted though he is, he still cannot instantly fall asleep. He lays there for a few long minutes battling memories. Lost friends' faces and dying gasps dance behind his eyes and echo in his mind.

Taldor looks around, and then he gets up and moves his stuff next to a nearby wagon. He sets up his things around the wagon so if you tried to sneak up on him you'd run into a lot of it, and he sits up against the wagon, facing the party. He pretends to go asleep, actually staying up to take watch.

As people begin bedding down for the evening, Mas'ud looks to the group of wagons that were here when the group arrived, before wandering over and finding a more militant member of that group. "We appear to be sharing a camp space this night. Perhaps we should share watch obligations as well?" He was, naturally, speaking with the wrong person, but he is able to eventually work out an arrangement that includes the larger group's oncoming watch person telling our smaller group that they have swapped out, so that the smaller group can stay on the same sort of rotation.

Once he returns to the smaller group, "They will let us know as they swap out who is on watch. Would anyone like to take first shift, or should I?"